


Fade | Linger

by winter_hiems



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men Legacy
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Feelings, I promise that the ending isn't sad, Intimacy, Mental Health Issues, Mention of Past Suicide Attempt, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Touching, Trauma Recovery, mention of past self-harm, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_hiems/pseuds/winter_hiems
Summary: David and Ruth discuss David’s scars.
Relationships: Ruth Aldine/David Haller
Comments: 11
Kudos: 9





	Fade | Linger

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the content warnings in the tags.

Ruth was used to David’s scars. There were three kinds, and she knew each kind intimately. 

The most obvious, and the ones that carried the most pain, were the parallel scars that ran their way up and down the inside of David’s arms. 

Thinner, narrower scars from self-harm, and thicker, deeper scars from at least two suicide attempts. 

Now that he had a chance at buying his own clothes, he stuck to long-sleeved shirts that covered absolutely everything, and on the occasions when Ruth got him out of his shirt – when she wasn’t distracted by David’s shirtlessness – she would sometimes glance down and check that it was still the same old scars, faded and pale against David’s light tan skin, with nothing new and red for her to worry over. And there wasn’t. 

Those scars had been made years ago, by a haunted young boy who bore only partial resemblance to the one she’d fallen in love with. David certainly didn’t like himself or his life all the time, but he was stable enough that he wouldn’t do _that_ anymore. 

The other scars were not made by David, but were instead things that had happened to him in the childhood that he hadn’t been allowed to have on Muir Island. 

His wrists were braceleted by scars from many, many occasions when he’d been strapped down to the bed and had struggled and struggled against the restraints, struggled until skin was rubbed raw and began to bleed, and none of the doctors or nurses ever thought about the possibility of giving softer, kinder restraints to the child that had been left in their cold care. 

The last set of scars were almost invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking for them; a hundred different track marks from medication that David hadn’t wanted. A hundred legacies of induced comas and experimental medication. 

Sometimes David would absentmindedly rub a thumb over the inside of one of his elbows, as if checking that there wasn’t a needle in him. 

Except one day Ruth woke up and David’s scars were different. 

Admittedly, she hadn’t noticed that the previous night. She and David had both been very occupied with each other. 

But she noticed in the morning. 

“David?” 

“Mmm?” He stretched out against the bed like a cat, completely and utterly content. 

How could she ruin his morning like this? But if Ruth tried to change the subject then he would know; he knew her moods too well for a deflection to work. “Your scars are gone,” she said. “The ones around your wrists.” 

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I had a good day with the Skinsmith, so I got rid of them. The needle scars, too.” 

“But not the…” _Not the ones that you gave yourself,_ Ruth didn’t say. _Not the ones that make me imagine you, eight years old in a padded cell, slashing at yourself with a bit of sharp plastic._

“Not these,” David said, running a hand over the many straight lines that ran the length of his arms. “I know that they’re the most obvious scars I had. I know that. And I know that it’s pretty fucking obvious how I got them. I could have got rid of them easily, but… I want them there. To remind me never to do it again. Not that I like them, I just think that it might stop me. Not that I get urges like that very often anymore. I mean, I remember the first time I met dad. I was so eager to please, trying to make him like me, like if I was well-behaved enough, he wouldn’t notice that both my arms were in bandages from shoulder to wrist.” 

“David…” she took his hand. 

“I’m okay,” he said to her, “Really, I’m okay. These days I’m okay most of the time, which is something that I’m still getting used to. It’s getting to the point where being hit in the face with trauma feels unusual. It’s never felt unusual before, but it should. And it is. So that’s a good thing, right?” 

“I think so.” 

“… do they bother you? I mean, I’m not a vain person, I’m just wondering.” 

Ruth considered her answer. “It upsets me that you did that to yourself. Sometimes I worry that you might hurt yourself again. But they don’t – I mean – they’re not ugly, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

David pulled her closer and buried his face in her hair. “That’s okay, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> In several different comics, kid!David has been drawn with bandaged arms, but there was never any explanation as to why. That’s what inspired this fic; the likely reason why an abused, isolated child with mental health issues might have bandaged arms.
> 
> The only time I’ve ever seen self-harm come up in an X-Men comic is in relation to Laura Kinney harming herself as a child, but of course, her healing ability means that she’ll never scar. David’s ability of skin manipulation via the Skinsmith means that he can get rid of scars, so I got to thinking about what scars David might have, given his life experience.
> 
> If you’ve been affected by the content of this fic then I encourage you to seek support from a mental health professional.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. I am not making money from this work.


End file.
